


Gold

by EchoesOfOmens



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel, Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Mutant Reader, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romance, Royalty, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 06:00:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19289602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoesOfOmens/pseuds/EchoesOfOmens
Summary: You're next in line for the throne, betrothed to a man you do not know. You're a mutant.When an assassination attempt ends in your brother's death, you are sent to live with your betrothed, leaving you angry and terrified by your powers.After all, how can you be expected to marry and produce heirs when you are cursed with what your mother calls "gold rot", otherwise known as the Midas Touch?Things get a lot more interesting as different heroes begin staking a claim to you and your powers. Only time will tell if you are the right choice to become queen.How far will you go to protect your people?





	Gold

**Author's Note:**

> COPYCAT -- Billie Eilish

“Father.  _Please_ , I--I beg of you, _no_. Not this.”

Your voice shook as the King regarded you with soft eyes. His mouth creased with regret. He wasn’t going to change his mind, not even for his favorite child, his eldest.

 

“I’m sorry. My word is final. It will all work out in the end, Zehavit. I promise.”

He rose from his chair and left his office, robes trailing him in his wake. Tears began streaming down your face, gold dusting your cheeks. You rubbed your palms over your cheeks in frustration, smearing your face in the shimmering shame that was yours to bear.

A servant boy paused in the doorway, his eyes wide as he caught sight of the precious metal staining your face and hands. You snarled at him viciously.

 

“What are you staring at?”

Your voice cut into the silence of the otherwise empty chamber, and the boy said nothing in response. Instead, he prostrated himself on the ancient rug, his hair refracting the beams of the dying sun. His hair was similar to yours in shade, though perhaps a touch darker. Yours was a warm blackish-brown, whereas his held an almost bluish tint to it. You curled your lip at him, ignoring the shudder that ran through the slope of his shoulders.

 

“What is your business? Why have you come?”

You leaned back against the mahogany desk, crossing your ankles and resting your weight on your palms. The boy shifted in his position, so that he was kneeling with his head bowed.

 

"I came to request your presence in the name of the Wakandan prince, my princess!" His resolve wavered, fear permeating his frame.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, heat in your core as anger filled you up.

 

"Denied. Leave me." 

Though T'Challa was no doubt a wonderful man and probably more than capable of ruling beside you, there was something about being essentially _bought_ that made your blood boil. It wasn't even like you were his first choice. The woman he loved, some spy from the River Tribe of Wakanda--she had been killed in action abroad. 

You were his last-ditch effort to find a suitable wife to produce heirs. 

Ironic, you thought. You glared down at the mahogany you'd leaned against. On the area you'd touched with bare skin, there was a splash of gold over the wood. Or more accurately, the laquer that covered it. It was infuriating. 

You'd never understood what you'd done to deserve such a curse. You didn't thirst for riches; far from it. You'd wanted to pay for your own college, but the King would have nothing of it. He forced you to pay for your University from his coffers.

Now, he was bending you to his will yet again. 

Oh. How you wanted to hurt something. But such behavior was unbefitting of a future queen. 

You knew this. 

The anger you felt at this arranged marriage--at being pawned off, sold, commoditized--was largely directed internally. Though logically you'd known it had been coming for a long time, you still hated that you couldn't change anything. You'd hoped if you showed enough responsibility and autonomy, your parents would let you rule alone. No such luck. 

In any case, you feared for T'Challa. You'd turned people into statues with your touch before. If you accidentally touched him and he died, you would likely be executed before you even had the chance to do any good for your country. 

You stormed from your father's study, a fresh vengeance on your mind as you prepared for the fury that would fall upon you when your father discovered that you'd refused your new husband. Though women carried the clout here, showing disrespect to T'Challa would earn you an earful. 

You didn't care, right now. You swept into the grand throne room to see your mother talking with your grandmother in hushed voices. 

 

"How could you let this happen?!" You glared accusingly from your mother to your grandmother, rage in your blood. 

Your grandmother was startled at your shout, but she quickly regained her ice queen composure. 

 

"If you are referring to your engagement to T'Challa, I'll have you know that we fought long and hard with his mother for your right to marry him! Your half sister almost got him instead of you, so I'd watch your tone with me!" 

Grandmother crossed her arms, matching your glare intensity. 

You paused as her words sank in. 

 

"Wait. _Prima_ wanted to marry T'Challa?" 

Your mother nodded. 

 

"Indeed. In fact, she was quite put out." 

The wheels turned in your head, a small smile creeping onto your lips. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. You would do anything to get the better of Prima, to wipe the smug smile off of her bitchy little face. 

 

"Interesting. 'Put out' as in, she was crying in her room, or she executed her emissary?"

Mother grinned impishly, knowing exactly where your thoughts were going. 

 

"Oh, she was absolutely livid. I had to have her dragged back to her room to keep from murdering the kitchen staff." 

Perhaps there was a silver lining to this little arrangement. 

You eyed your grandmother suspiciously, but she smirked as well. Your entire family despised Prima and her mother.  She was the only mistake your father had ever made, and she repeatedly came back to bite all of you in the ass. Prima was difficult and vile, cruel, and generally horrid. The only saving grace she had was her indesputable beauty--even you had to admit that she was drop-dead gorgeous. 

However true that was, she was only beautiful on the outside. Prima coveted everything you had, to the point of murdering, stealing, and lying to get what she wanted. If she was a little smarter, you might consider her a threat, but she'd ignored your father's offers to educate herself and instead focused on her own desires, leaving you in no danger anytime soon. 

Still, it couldn't hurt to put forth some effort and give T'Challa a chance, right? If nothing else, you could play up the romance and lust whenever Prima was sure to be watching. Her facial expression alone would be worth it. 

Your mother seemed to read your thoughts. 

 

"So, you'll go through with it? Willingly?"

You sighed, but glanced back up at them with an impish grin. 

 

"It would be rude not to." 

 

 


End file.
